


some enchantment in the light

by fructose



Category: Formula 1 RPF, The Lighthouse (2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Kinda, M/M, Praise Kink, Sea Shanties, Violence, sebchal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructose/pseuds/fructose
Summary: Just two guys in a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean getting up to some hilarious japes.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	some enchantment in the light

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this beautiful moodboard](https://sebchalex.tumblr.com/post/638281201555275776/sebchal-x-the-lighthouse-2019-should-pale) by sebchalex on tumblr.
> 
> Sorry it's so gross and not cute at all :|

The old man drank gin shipped in from the mainland, mixed with the godawful poison they used to fuel the lamp. He said that it helped him relax and clear his head, his accent rough and foreign sounding even when he was sober. His name was Sebastian, but he demanded that Charles call him ‘sir’, he was _the keeper_ after all. Charles decided from day one to stay out of trouble, do his work, and get back to the mainland unscathed.

For the first two weeks Sebastian would offer Charles a tin cup of gin with dinner, chewing on the stale bread they used to mop up their chowder. He’d smile, knowing Charles would say no, and shake his head.

“You’re too young,” he’d say. “Trying to be so grown up.”

“It’s dangerous for both of us to drink,” Charles said one evening, tired of being mocked. “We need at least one clear head on the island.”

Sebastian held his mocking smile but his eyes flickered into something hard, something that had the potential of danger underneath.

“Don’t concern yourself with my clearheadedness,” Sebastian said slowly. “If I were you, I would worry only about yourself.”

_I intend to_ , Charles thought, but he let his eyes slip back down to his bowl of chowder, unwilling to continue to push when Sebastian was already on his third cup.

Charles seemed to have a never ending list of responsibilities on the island and he spent his days scrubbing and hefting, painting and repairing. Sebastian would walk past him in the corridor between their quarters and the lighthouse, while Charles was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor, look at the work he had done and tell him, “Do it again, but this time do it right.”

After a few weeks Charles wanted to throttle the old man when he did this, wanted to get right up and choke the life out of him. But he had a job to do, it was his responsibility, so instead he would stare at the wooden floor, scrubbed raw by his own hands, and say, “Yes, sir.”

Sometimes Sebastian would stand by and watch him work, wandering over to run a thumb over a repaired hinge or a sanded corner, brushing wood chips off of the furniture onto the floor, which Charles would have to sweep up later.

He would lock himself away for hours in the lantern room at the top of the lighthouse, leaving Charles to empty the chamber pots, chop the firewood, clean the windows, cook the food. By the end of each day Charles was sweating and filthy, covered in a layer of dirt that a wet rag and a bowl full of water had no chance of shifting. The filth became ingrained and eventually Charles ceased to notice it. He was thankful in a way that it was just the two of them, if there was anyone other than the old man on the island he might have felt embarrassed.

Sebastian himself was a rank old thing, always stinking of the kerosene he used to feed the lamp, hands black with soot, skin grubby and weather beaten. Charles was quite sure he hated him, but it was difficult to know for sure after only a few weeks. Surely every being on the earth deserved a chance, no matter how foul.

As the long days passed Charles came to realise that the worst thing about Sebastian was his complete disregard for the work that Charles did on the island. Never mind the drinking, the verbal abuse, the mocking, and the _smell_ , the thing that got to Charles the most was the fact Sebastian never once thanked him, never once told him he was doing a good job. Somehow this made Charles want to work even harder, to complete even the most dangerous or disgusting jobs, anything to get the slightest bit of praise from the old man. But of course it was never enough, Sebastian resided comfortably in the negative and frankly never had a good word to say about anything. Ever.

“I finished moving the coal from the dock up to the shed,” Charles said one evening as he finished his bowl of stew.

Sebastian said nothing.

“It was a difficult job on my own.”

“If I were your age I would have had it done weeks ago,” Sebastian said, sipping from his tin cup, eyes sharp as he glared at Charles. “You don’t know what a difficult job is.”

Charles looked down at his empty bowl and said, “Why don’t you show me then? I can help in the lantern room.”

Sebastian snorted out a laugh. “You’re no man to work up there.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sebastian slammed his fist down in the table, making the bowls clatter against the wood. “You are not to go near the lantern room,” he said, voice loud and stern.

“I’m here to learn,” Charles pressed.

Sebastian pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, reaching to get a hand in Charles’ shirt. He pulled him to his feet with surprising strength and held him close.

“Listen to me, boy,” Sebastian said slowly. “If I ever find you in that lighthouse I will throw you from the top of it and leave you for the birds, do you understand?”

Charles ground his teeth together, furious and petrified. He wanted to argue, to push the old man, but there was something deeply unsettling about him, something which scared him. So he didn’t argue, he didn’t push, instead he conceded as he always did, looking away from Sebastian’s dark eyes.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Yes what?” Sebastian said through gritted teeth.

Charles sighed, hating himself. “Yes, sir.”

Charles didn’t bring up working in the lantern room for a while, but he was determined he wouldn’t let it go. Maybe the old man would get sick and Charles would have to go and man the lamp, maybe he would fall and break an ankle and wouldn’t be able to climb the stairs, or would fall into the sea and get washed back to the mainland, rotten and hollowed out by the creatures of the sea. Surely there were endless opportunities for Sebastian to hurt himself on this deadly little spit of land?

Charles found himself fantasising as he worked, imagining some chance disaster that would see him descending the stairs towards the lamp, towards that great white eye. Whenever he did this he would turn and find Sebastian watching him, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder if he could read his mind.

As they entered their sixth week together a storm hit the island, building in ferocity throughout the day as the two men worked to batten down the hatches.

“You’ll have to secure the dinghy,” Sebastian said as they moved firewood into the store that Charles had built against the side of the shed.

“It’s a two man job,” Charles said, already having to shout over the wind.

Sebastian laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Go and do it, you lazy dog.”

Charles glared. Maybe the storm will take him, he thought as he threw down the logs he was holding and stormed into the shed. He found two thick lengths of brown rope and looped them over his shoulder, before making his way to the other side of the island where the wooden dinghy bobbed dangerously in a rocky nook, set back from the full strength of the waves.

The dinghy was secured by a single rope onto a wooden stake, but it would need more to hold it steady during the night. Charles carefully made his way down the rocky side of the island to the bow of the dinghy, where he tied the ends of the two lengths of rope to a heavy iron bolt screwed into the wooden bow.

As he stepped back to haul at the ropes his boot slipped against the rocks and he fell hard against the base of his spine, the pain of it knocked the breath out of him and his head swam. He struggled to gain purchase against the algae covered rocks and slipped right into the raging waters. He tried to pull himself up the side of the wooden dinghy but the sea knocked the little boat against the rocks, trapping Charles beneath it. He tried to shout out but the rank water filled his mouth, choking him.

This is it, he thought. I’m going to die out here on this island and no one will even know what happened to me.

He had hoped that his life might flash before his eyes, and he would be subjected to some kind of dying euphoria, but all he could think about was the fact he would never know what Sebastian did up in the lantern room all day, that he would never get to see the lamp for himself.

In that moment, as his head slipped beneath the waves, he felt the rough edge of a piece of rope brush past his hand. He grabbed at it frantically, pulling hard and hoping it was still attached to the bow of the little boat. He hauled at it and pulled his head free, taking a gulping breath as the boat knocked up against him, he pulled again and his shoulders bobbed above the surface, again and his feet found purchase on the rocks, again and he was able to pull himself, almost primordial, from the raging waters. He crawled across the rocks on his hands and knees to the safety of the shore and slumped, exhausted, against the wet sand.

“Honestly,” came a voice above him. “You’ve damaged the dinghy.”

Charles opened his eyes, still breathing hard, and saw Sebastian standing above him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ve damaged the dinghy? I almost died!” Charles shouted, scrabbling to his feet. “Why didn’t you help me!?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I arrived too late.”

“Too late!? You stood watching!”

Sebastian turned away. “Make sure you secure the dinghy this time, or it will be lost to the storm.”

Charles watched him walk back up the short beach towards the lighthouse, stunned into silence. He wondered how long Sebastian had stood there, watching him as he started to drown. He realised that the rope was still clutched in his hand and he turned to tie it to the wooden post sunk deep into the earth, using a knot that Sebastian himself had taught him.

That night Charles accepted the offered tin cup of acrid alcohol, overwhelmed with what had happened that day and overcome with gratitude that he had not met his end on the godforsaken island.

“There’s still time yet,” Sebastian had said when Charles had expressed this. Charles took it as a joke but there was no playful lilt to Sebastian’s voice, just an unavoidable truth.

The alcohol made Charles’ gums burn, his heart ticking fast in his chest. He wondered if he would light up like the great eye, powered by the same yellow poison. Sebastian seemed happy enough to finally have someone to drink with, and refilled Charles' cup whenever it got too low, singing shanties in German, his voice strangely high.

By the fourth refill they were dancing around the little table, shouting the same song in two different languages, trying to be louder than the storm raging outside. By the sixth refill they sat side by side on the floor, their backs to the quivering wall of the house, drinking in silence.

Sebastian was mumbling something in German, his voice oddly gentle.

“English,” Charles said, pushing their shoulders together. “I can’t understand you.”

Sebastian reached across and gripped Charles’ thigh, his fingers digging in hard. “I said, you’re a hard worker.”

Charles snorted, looking down at Sebastian’s hand on his thigh. “I know,” he said. “It’s you who forgets that.”

“I don’t forget,” Sebastian said. “I don’t forget.”

Charles kept his eyes on Sebastian’s hand and wondered when the last time someone touched him was. Months ago, he thought, it could have been years, who knew anymore.

“Charles.” Sebastian’s voice was suddenly stern and it made Charles’ head snap up. “You’re a good boy.”

Charles looked away, startled by the electric buzz of adrenalin in his veins at Sebastian’s words, by the twitch of his forgotten cock.

“Do you know that as well?” Sebastian asked.

Charles said nothing.

“I’m asking you a question,” Sebastian said, shaking Charles’ thigh a little. “Do you know that?”

Charles said the only thing he could say, the only thing that seemed right, the only thing that seemed natural: “Yes, sir.”

Sebastian nodded and Charles wondered if for a moment they might kiss, the two of them out here alone with no one but the sea and the wind and the damn birds. No one would have to know, no one but the lamp. But Sebastian just finished the last of his drink and pushed himself to his feet, swaying as he said, “I’m going to bed, we need at least one clear head on this island.”

Charles watched him leave, disappearing into the dark. The alcohol buzzed through him and he realised he was half hard, uncomfortable in his itchy clothes. He thought about going to the shed out the back to finish himself off like he did sometimes on particularly lonely nights, but he didn’t want to battle through the storm, so instead he drained his cup and stood, blowing out the candles and spraying white specs of wax across the wooden table.

He would have to clean that in the morning, he thought. _You’re a hard worker._ He huffed out a breath and made his way towards the staircase that would take him to the room he shared with Sebastian. _You’re a good boy_.

Upstairs it sounded as though the storm would whip the building right into the sea. There was a leak above the stairs and Charles noted it as another job to do in the morning. He followed the guttering light of the candle Sebastian must have lit in the bedroom and stopped in the doorway, leaning against the rotting door jamb. 

“I’ve got a job for you,” Sebastian said when he saw him, sitting on the edge of his bunk in his grubby long johns. “Come and look.”

Charles stood warily at the door, his eyes flicking to the safety of his bunk and back to Sebastian, who held out a hand towards him, as if beckoning him, and then pointed at the wooden floor at his feet.

“Come and look,” he said again, accent thick from the alcohol.

“It’s late,” Charles said, unmoving. The storm rattled the window frames and in their tiny black panes Charles saw his own distorted reflection bending in the wind.

“It won’t take long,” Sebastian said, almost soft. “Come here.”

Charles swayed slightly as he stepped across the room, the alcohol and the poison from the lamp swilling around inside him. He stood in front of Sebastian, looking down at the worn patch of floor between his feet.

“What is it?” he asked, even as he knew somewhere in the back of his addled mind exactly what the task was.

Sebastian smiled that same mocking smile and said, “You’ll have to get down to see.”

Charles stared at the floor, let his eyes flick to the front of Sebastian’s long johns as he spread his legs a little further apart.

“On your knees,” Sebastian said, voice low. He said it as though it were an order so Charles sunk shakily to the floor, settling into the space Sebastian had made for him. He stared at the floor, afraid to look up, even as Sebastian reached out and carded his fingers through his hair, cupping his palm against Charles' jaw, his cheek, the back of his head. Eventually Sebastian gripped his jaw and tipped his head up. “You _are_ a good boy, Charles,” he said, not quite taunting. “You are good.”

Charles huffed but didn’t pull away, just let himself be held as the storm raged around them. Sebastian let his free hand wander, gripping his own cock through the frayed material of his long johns.

“Do you want to know what the job is?” he said, looking down at Charles with dark eyes.

Charles huffed again. “I know what the job is.”

Sebastian’s fingers grew tight on Charles’ jaw. “Better get on with it then,” he said, his words nonchalant but his voice bordering on desperate.

Charles let himself be pulled forward by Sebastian’s strong hand as he muttered, “Yes, sir.”

He imagined his warped reflection in the black windows, as he leaned forward to lick at the underside of Sebastian’s cock, closing his mouth around it and sucking like the tides. He thought of the great eye watching him, turning its white beam towards him and burning through his skin. His mouth grew wet fast and he couldn’t help being sloppy, pinned as he was between Sebastian’s hand on the back of his head and the cock in his mouth. The weight of it was like an anchor against his tongue and he couldn’t help but keen.

Sebastian was right, it wasn’t a long job, he was coming with a grunt before Charles had even got a hand on himself. Sebastian held Charles still even after he had finished, his cock softening in Charles’ mouth as Charles was forced to swallow down the mess Sebastian had made.

“Good boy,” Sebastian said breathlessly, looking down at Charles held tight in his lap. “Good boy.”

Charles gulped around Sebastian’s soft cock and pulled away, wanting it out of his mouth. He was still hard, growing harder as the shame sank in. He didn’t look up at Sebastian, but felt his watchful eyes upon him as he pressed the heel of his palm against his cock, hard enough to hurt as the fabric of his trousers rubbed against it.

“You’ll be heading to the shed, hm?” Sebastian said knowingly.

Charles glared up at him, furious and humiliated, the taste of Sebastian’s come filthy at the back of his palate, his spine still hurting from his fall despite the alcohol.

“Fuck you,” Charles spat.

Sebastian smiled that mocking smile then reached out and slapped Charles’ face, the stinging ring of it seeming to echo about the room despite the storm outside. Charles fell back, startled, as Sebastian bundled his fist into the collar of Charles’ shirt and shook him hard. “Don’t forget who your keeper is, boy,” he said, low and dangerous. His blue eyes seemed pitch black in the candlelight and Charles wondered for a moment if he had been possessed. Sebastian shook him again and said, “Don’t you fucking forget.”

Charles glared but there was something in him, some sober life preserver, that was still scared of the strange man. So instead of fighting back he looked down at Sebastian's feet and muttered, “No, sir, I won’t forget.”

The next morning the storm had passed, leaving a trail of battered debris in its wake. Charles scrubbed the kitchen table to remove the spots of wax, cleaned the floors where they had spilled their drinks, and fixed the leak in the stairwell roof. The storm had taken the little slanted roof off of his wood store and scattered the logs across the brown grass and down to the sea, so Charles spent the afternoon gathering them up and placing them carefully back. He struggled down to the sea, slipping on the wet rocks, fighting for every last wet log he could find, knowing that each one was vital in making sure he didn’t leave the island minus a few frostbitten toes.

He hadn’t seen Sebastian all day, but knew he was up in the lantern room, that he had disappeared up there early in the morning. Sebastian was of course used to drinking himself half to death and then waking up as though nothing had happened, Charles on the other hand wasn’t so lucky. He had thrown up three times in the morning already, and as he gathered the scattered firewood down by the sea he felt vomit rising in his throat once again. He was attempting to hold it in when he slipped on something spongy on the rocks, his boot sliding out from under him. He looked down and saw that it was the body of a huge gull, tossed against the rocks by the sea, the wet red remains of its head smeared across the rocks and on his boot. Charles immediately bent over and threw up once again, his vomit sliding into the lapping water.

He put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, sucking in the briny air and trying not to gag when he felt someone watching him. He turned and looked up at the great white tower of the lighthouse against the grey sky and saw, at its peak, Sebastian, standing on the gallery watching Charles vomit into the ocean.

Charles hated him, he was sure of that now. He couldn’t believe there was ever a time he thought maybe Sebastian deserved a chance, the man was despicable, demonic, disgusting. Charles turned away, looking back at the bloodied remains of the gull, wishing it was Sebastian’s head dashed against the rocks, that it was Sebastian’s gore on his boots.

After that Charles started to drink each night and eventually in the mornings too, ignoring Sebastian’s sneering words and half heartedly going about his duties from dawn until dusk, while Sebastian disappeared up into the lighthouse each day.

Charles had visions of strangling Sebastian in his sleep, of pushing him from the lighthouse gallery, drowning him in one of the chamber pots. He thought about it when he snuck into the shed at night, his fist around his cock, biting out expletives in whatever language came to mind. Sebastian knew exactly what Charles was doing out in the shed, of course he did, but Charles found it difficult to care. He knew Sebastian watched him constantly, even when he wasn’t around he set the lighthouse on Charles, and the white eye was always on him, burning through him.

Charles decided that that was what Sebastian was doing day after day up in the lighthouse, conversing with it, telling it all about Charles and his sinful behaviour. Describing what Charles looked like on his knees, what he looked like while he was sucking cock, what he thought about when he was in the shed.

Charles had to get up to the lantern room and explain his side of the story, explain that Sebastian had been plying him with alcohol, about his ungodly eyes on him every second of the goddamn day, how he had left him to die.

Yes, he decided. He must get into the lantern room, no matter what Sebastian did, he had to get to the lamp and explain what had happened. Sebastian had already tried to kill him once though, what was to stop him from doing it again? Well, Charles thought, he would take the hatchet. He would go to the shed and fetch the hatchet, and if Sebastian tried to stop him he would kill him.

Charles waited until that evening, when Sebastian disappeared into the water closet to use the chamber pot that Charles had dutifully emptied that morning. Charles had walked the worn path to the shed a hundred times or more over the last few months, but never with such urgent purpose. He threw open the shed doors and searched the darkness inside, eventually finding the worn wooden handle of the hatchet and pulling it free from the log it was wedged in.

As he hurried back he looked up at the lighthouse, swinging its white light across the dark ocean. _Soon_ , he thought. _I’ll be with you soon_.

Charles had to walk through their quarters to get to the corridor which led to the base of the lighthouse, but as he hurried in through the door Sebastian leaped at him from the water closet, knocking them both to the ground.

“I told you no!” Sebastian shouted, wrestling the hatchet from Charles’ grip and pushing it away. “You’re not to go to the lantern room.”

Charles tried to throw his fist but the angle was awkward and there was no force behind it, so they ended up struggling against one another, each reaching for the hatchet. Sebastian managed to haul himself to his feet and lurched forwards but Charles grabbed at his loose shirt tails and pulled himself up, using the momentum to pull them both backwards into the wall, which shuddered as they collided with it.

From the outside there was no indication that anything out of the ordinary was happening at all, just the slight shake of the wall, some muffled shouts from inside, leaking out through the gaps in the windows. The dark night enveloped them and stretched outwards in every direction for hundreds of miles, nothing but the black ocean and the black sky and at its centre, this speck of rock. The lighthouse loomed over it all, staring down at the little wooden building with its unseen inner turmoil, before turning its great eye out towards the black sea, which was as flat and calm as a millpond.


End file.
